#seddi

It’s too tempting to keep his eyes closed, to not fully wake for fear of the dream vanishing.  He turns over, finds warm arms and soft breath ruffling his hair.

“I can tell you’re awake, Steed.”

It’s all too physical for a dream.  He looks up into dark, amused eyes.

“You know you’ve never been able to fool me.”  He manages a little smile, and hers falters.  “What’s wrong?”

Ordinarily, he’d toss off some breezy remark, make her laugh, and change the subject, but the quiet, sleepy rawness of the morning makes it impossible to hide.  She’s right; he can never really fool her, even though she sometimes lets him think he has.  “It still doesn’t seem real,” he admits, “your being here.  Waking up next to you again.”

Emma closes her eyes. “I made a promise when I married him, Steed.”

“I know.  I don’t blame you for it.”  He says it automatically, and, as ever, she’s not fooled, but she doesn’t pursue it.  Not for the moment.

“I’m here now.”

“Yes.” He rests his head on her shoulder, breathes in her spicy perfume and the warmth of her body.  So familiar, once, and in the misery after she left, so haunting.  He kept catching hints of it, on sheets and pillowcases and upholstery, and every time something pressed on his heart, forced the air from his lungs.

“But you don’t trust me.”

Of course I trust you.  The words die in his throat.  They aren’t a lie.  He’s trusted her with his life countless times, and would do it again in a heartbeat.  But he’s just been trying to convince himself not to wake and spoil the dream of her.

“Is there anything -?”  Her voice trails off into uncertainty.  Is there anything she could do to reassure him?  Any way to convince him that she’ll be here tomorrow morning, and the morning after?

He sighs, breathes her in again.  Doesn’t want to say no, there’s nothing she can do.  Nothing but stay here beside him, let him relearn their closeness.

She kisses the top of his head, runs cool fingers through his hair.  The light scratch of her nails on his scalp.  “Look up.”

He raises his head to meet her eyes, and she nods toward the ceiling.

The little green and white sprig has appeared overnight.  Sometime while he slept, Emma must have slipped away to hang it above the bed.

And then she returned, he thinks.  He smiles at the mistletoe, smiles still more broadly when she rises on one elbow and leans over him.  She came back before he could wake and find her gone.